


A Mother's Memories

by AmandaG96



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Character Death, Cliff - Freeform, Depression, F/M, Infant Death, Rebirth, Suicide, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaG96/pseuds/AmandaG96
Summary: Esme remembers her life and the memories that will never be while leaving the hospital in Ashland without her son.
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen
Kudos: 2





	A Mother's Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would take a stab at something different when I started writing this story... three years ago. :P I know, its long overdue.  
> Rated M for Suicide and Depression. Let me know what you think.

** Ashland, 1921 **

It started with just a cough. I thought it was from him eating too fast, he was quite a hungry boy after all, but it was not the case. I only had him for twenty-four hours and then he was gone. His lifeless body taken from my arms by the doctor.

A mere forty-eight hours after his birth I walked through the hospital doors with nowhere to go, no one to see, and no bundle in my arms to show everyone. There was only a tear-stained face, swollen breasts with milk that will never be used, a small suitcase, and his white hospital blanket that I clenched to my chest.

Although he was wrapped in it for just a short time, it still smelled like him. It smelled like his soft and warm chestnut hair. He had my hair. I trudged mindlessly away from the hospital, occasionally lifting the blanket under my nose to inhale his scent. Tears filled my eyes as it went up my nostrils, because I could sense that his precious scent was already beginning to fade.

“Stay.” I whispered into the blanket, “Please, stay.”

The pain in my chest intensified as the midday summer wind picked up and blew more and more of his precious scent away. I clenched the blanket closer to my aching chest and forced my face into a stoic expression as I walked along the pathway into town.

This was the worst pain in the world. Leaving my son behind, in a cold hospital without me, his mother, was indeed the hardest thing I ever had to do.

Running away from Charles seemed easier now.

Three years of consistent abuse was long enough. I thought he would stop when he came back from the war, or even when I became pregnant, but it did not stop him. He was sure not to punch my belly at first. However, after a night of drinking at the local bar and coming home five hours late to find that dinner was not on the table, it all changed. After a slap across the face, he grabbed my wrist pulled me up onto my feet and punched me in the stomach. The blow so powerful it dropped me back onto my knees.

“Stop!” I cried, holding my hand out to him, “Please stop- the baby.”

That night as I laid in bed, with the smell of alcohol erupting from his open mouth like ash from a volcano, I decided that I would not unpack my bags as I had done countless times before. Tomorrow would be the day. He would not hurt me anymore, and I would not give him the chance to hurt my child.

After he went to work, I got my suitcase and boarded the 9 a.m. train to Ashland and never looked back.

The frenetic rush of wagons and the random conversations of passers-by broke me from my memories.

“Watch out, lady!” A dark voice shouted.

I looked up to see a wagon speeding straight towards me. At the very last second my legs carried me backwards and out of its path. The wind from its speed hit my face and blew my chestnut hair out of my face.

“Sorry.” I grumbled in a low, disoriented voice and continued to go wherever my feet took me.

More memories continued to the flood my mind, but this time, they were memories that would never be.

In the first he was one years old and balancing himself on the sofa. My arms stretched out towards him some mere feet away. “Come to me, William. Come to Mommy. You can do it!”

Next, he was three years old and jammed his fingers into his dinner as my back was turned. I turned back around to see his sweet little face, and chestnut hair covered in mashed potato and brown gravy. “Oh, William!” I chuckled, before cleaning his face gently. “Silly Monkey!”

Then he was four years old, his little arms clenched around my neck. “Don’t want you go!” He cried in the caress of my neck.

“William,” I said softly, “Mommy will be back to pick you up for lunch time. You know she must go to work.” But still he refused to let go, my neck muffled the little whimpers from him. I wrapped my arms around his back and held onto him. I, too, did not want to go either.

When I finally came to, I found my surroundings surprisingly silent. Managing to bring my vision into focus, I found myself walking through a pristine forest, the sounds and smells of the city gradually dissipating with every step. Sticks and leaves broke under my heels, and as I walked further and further through the trees, I began to smell a clean river.

Peace overwhelmed me as my feet continued to carry me through the woods until I arrived at a cliff edge and suddenly, I felt at peace. I dropped my bag and walked towards the edge.

“William.” I whispered, clenching the blanket with both hands.

I arrived at the edge too quickly. I stopped and looked ahead focusing on the sunset in front of me. It was so beautiful. I had never noticed it before.

As I stared at the beautiful orange sun gradually sinking towards the horizon, I did something I had not done in a long time. I prayed. I prayed that my end would be quick and as painless as possible, and that my William would be the first thing I would see when Death comes to take me away.

I dug my now shaking fingers deep into the blanket and, after a deep inhale of his now almost faded scent, I turned around, clenched my fingers deep in the blanket and let my body fall.

* * *

Cold. Water. Pain. Cold. Table.

“Esme?”

The voice was soft, so soft like an angel.

My eyes fluttered; I could open them only a little. The pain was too great. I saw blonde hair and a hand reaching to touch my forehead, a cold hand. Why were they so cold? His cold hand turned my head turned to the side and suddenly lips were at my neck.

He was surely Death. This was the kiss of death.

But that was not the case.

Pain. Burning pain. I could feel the pain run down my chest, hands, and fingertips. It was like a poison was running through my veins. I opened my mouth to scream but my mouth refused to open. I tried to move my hands, but they would not budge.

He was not an angel.

He was not taking me to heaven.

I was going to hell.

This was my punishment.

And I would never see my William again.

~*The End*~


End file.
